The Jones Family Goes Camping

Ian and I used to camp. Like, a lot. Something happened when we had kids, however. I suddenly became overwhelmingly aware of how much dirt actually covered the earth. And my offspring seemed far too willing to let the majority of the earth's surface fall into their mouth, on their clothes, in their ears...etc., etc., etc. Blame it on the OCD, but dirt and I suddenly had a falling out. Needless to say, our family hasn't done much camping in the last few years.

Last summer I suddenly felt an urge to get ourselves out in nature again. Ian and I discussed it and decided to go ahead and reserve a campsite super-early in the year so that we could a) have it on the calendar, and b) be able to choose a campsite suited to our little crew.

And it started out great. We did a little hiking (a.k.a. walking around and looking at sticks/rocks/bugs).

Curtis screamed a little for no reason.

We also invited some friends up to join us for dinner.

And then...it rained. At first we tried to ignore it. A little sprinkling can't hurt, right? Especially when you're cooking some delicious tinfoil dinners. Then it started raining a little harder. No worries...we tied the shade umbrellas up to the picnic table to give most of us a little spot to eat our dinner and still enjoy our time together. We were able to serve up a few dutch-oven scones (which I totally recommend, by the way) with some of Amy D's incredible honey-butter...

...while the kids ran amuck. Just a little bit.

Then...the skies opened up and the rain came tumbling down. We bid a hasty farewell to the Davidson's, threw all the food/etc. in the van and hunkered down in our tent. It was a wet and cold night (at least for me...Curtis decided he needed to steal my bed AND my blankets. I shivered on the hard ground for the majority of the night in a state of half-sleep while everyone else snored away...grrrr).

Morning eventually came and with it, the sun! Hallelujah! With the kids all bundled up, they were able to enjoy a little more hiking (a.k.a. walking around looking at sticks, rocks, and bugs, and playing with the flashlights).

Oh, and drinking WAY too much water.

While it may be a while before the memory of this particular trip fades...I'm sure the Jones family will eventually brave mother nature once again and find ourselves equally covered in dirt...and equally happy.

The Bad Guy

Curtis has a new voice. A deep, gravelly, take-me-serious voice which he uses to demand attention and respect. (It really is quite something.) Earlier this afternoon he used aforementioned voice to announce, "I'm a BAD GUY!!!" I nearly shook with fright.

When this bold declaration was followed by strange "clicking", I knew I needed to find out what new horror would be unleashed upon his unsuspecting family members!

Hmmm...are those Snow White Princess High-Heels? Indeed they are. Fashionably teamed up with a smiling cookie-face and shorts. (Whew! Crisis averted.)

I very nearly had to take him seriously when he showed me the "keys" in his pocket, and began shooting Ellie with his "gun".

But wait a minute. Yup...those are still Snow White Princess High-Heels.

We're good.

Vocabulary

Let me sum up Curtis: that boy moves. A lot.

No really, a LOT. Jumping, climbing, hopping, bouncing, running, skipping, then more climbing, jumping, running...you get the picture.

I find that I spend the majority of my days trying to prevent some major bone-breaking, blood-losing, spine-jarring tragedy. It can be exhausting.

Today he was jumping (of course) off of a chair and ended up crashing into the floor. He came wailing up to me, holding his head in his hands, and loudly exclaimed, "Mom! I broke my head open!"

At lease I've repeated myself enough to impact his vocabulary...if not his actions.

The Day We Introduced Sports

Now here's the thing with the Jones family and sports: We don't do them*. We don't watch them. We don't listen to them. Odds are if you ask us if we watched "the game" you'll receive a vacant, ignorant stare in return.

In spite of this errant social behavior I still believe we live full, contented lives.

The other day, however, I had a horrible, sinking feeling. I suddenly realized that our non-sports lifestyle could possibly have led us to a grand oversight in the rearing of our children! What if one of them actually would like sports? What if one of them could be truly talented at any given sport but will never be given the chance? Parenting 101 dictates exposure to all types of activities in order to cultivate a child's natural abilities, right?

FAIL.

Solution: Start with the only sport I was ever any good at**. For $7.99 I picked up a teeny-tiny glove and ball and begged the little ones to gather around me as I taught them the basics of softball/baseball. What ensued was hilarity at it's finest.

Once we convinced Curtis to throw the ball with his free hand rather than using the glove to launch it, the ball ended up being tossed in my general direction more than it didn't. Awesome.

Catching it, however, was a bit of a problem. Certainly due to the fact that we've skipped the whole "catching a ball" part of parenting. Fail again.

I'm not even sure what he's trying to do here:

The boy quickly tired of it, but to my great delight (and profound surprise) Lindy ended up taking a real appreciation for this favorite American*** pastime.

All in all I believe our first foray into the world of sports was a success. While we may need to visit other types of athletic adventures for Curtis (he appears to be only interested in full-contact, sword-wielding type activities) and possibly a different approach with Ellie (she was content to watch it all from the sidelines) we did enjoy a little sunshine, a lot of laughter, and a great bunch of family time.

Now THAT'S parenting!

* Ian would like me to clarify that mountain biking is a sport. So, for the record, by "sports" I am only referring to highly-publicized, career-making, rockstar-status, competitive sports including, but not limited to, football, baseball, basketball, and the like.

** I did possess a smidgen of natural talent for soccer as a child. But, as my childhood memories have long since been reduced to a hazy fog of un-recallable**** details I had to choose a sport from more recent years.

*** Canadians play the sport too, folks. Don't get all overly, patriotically, possessive on me. I'll have to pull out my Blue Jays World Series paraphernalia and get all up in your face.

**** Is "recallable" a word?

I Keep Trying

And he keeps denying me a nice, normal, smile.